


Tentacle Rut

by Rotting_Corpseflesh



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Female Reader, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other, Reader-Insert, Rutting, Tentacle Dick, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Teratophilia, Xeno, going into rut, i'm sorry god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-23 19:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20345443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotting_Corpseflesh/pseuds/Rotting_Corpseflesh
Summary: You're the current resident of 29 Niebolt Street, and the eldritch being living in the well in your basement has been acting awfully strange recently...AKA, Pennywise goes into rut and has a tentacle dick, you know the drill





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just shameless smut, I have no excuses. I'm sorry for doing this to your creation, Mr King.
> 
> Will update with the rest of the fuxxing later when I actually finish it wh00ps
> 
> EDIT: chapter one changed up a little, chapter two *coming* soon!

You've been living in 29 Niebolt for several months, the uneasy truce with the eldritch terror beast living in the well in your basement still new. The knowledge of your unnatural roommate sticks in your mind like a hole in your mouth where a tooth once lived, your brain poking at the foreign feeling like your tongue ones prodded the gaps in your mouth as a child.

You don't notice the strange behavior of the not-a-clown for a long time. That isn't your fault, the clown hardly notices the change Itself.

The change starts slowly- like an itch It can't quite scratch. A subtle burn, an ember sparking to life inside Its flesh, small enough for It not to notice. Perhaps It rushes Its kills a little more, snaps and snarls at you whenever the two of you happen to cross paths. Perhaps It is less patient than usual, less willing to wait or to put up with boredom, but that's not far from the norm. After all, Pennywise the Dancing Clown is busy, It has no time for little things like a strange flesh sensation when It must prepare for Its hibernation.

But as weeks go by, the sensation becomes insistent, and the not-a-clown can no longer ignore the burning when It is not actively hunting or feeding. And the stronger the feeling, the more defined. It can now identify the affliction. The spider knows now what causes the ache deep in Its guts.

This is when you begin to notice the change in Its behavior. The scurrying, the furtiveness. The antsy manner when the two of you are forced to interact. The way It can no longer quite stand still, shifting from foot to foot as if It can't help doing it, pacing like It can't stop. You notice It lurking just out of your sight more and more, watching you- one night you wake to find It burying Its nose in your hair, even, taking great snuffling sniffs. That one was more than a little alarming.

It hasn't felt arousal in a long, long time. But now, the more days that pass, the stronger the urges get. A moment comes when It finds Itself creeping up behind you as you load the washing machine, seconds from grabbing you in Its pincers and rutting into you like some base creature. In that instant, It wants to pin you against the wall, the floor, anything, and fuck you bloody and not stop until the blaze of arousal dissipates.

That’s when It realizes It can no longer go about Its usual business of hunting, killing, and eating. Instead, It retreats to Its sewer lair, to the mattress and the stagecoach, rubbing Itself on the corners of the filthy mattress, on the wooden boards of the stage's floor. On anything to alleviate the endless building haze, the burning, pressing need in Its pantaloons. 

But there is no relief to be found, It finds- no matter how It ruts against anything, everything, no matter how It bucks Its hips into Its own hand, there is no relief, only a growing fog of need, a burn of want so strong the spider-clown can barely stand, can barely stop Its relentless chase of an end to this suffocating buildup.

That's how you find It, lying on the stage floor, silvery pants around Its thighs, knees on the grainy, splintery wood, pale ass in the air, forehead pressed to the floor, one hand bracing Itself against the ground, the other working furiously between Its legs.

You can't even remember why you came down there, only that you are standing behind a pile of junk, watching the spider's hand move, listening to the squeaks and moans and wails and wet squelching as It tries frantically to bring Itself off.

The clown is almost weeping with need, almost sobbing, Its hand not enough. It needs more.

As you drift among the detritus, creeping closer, knowing that spying on Pennywise in such straits is tantamount to suicide but feeling unable to stop, you crane your neck, suddenly struck with a desperate need to get a better look at what It happens to be packing in the genital department.

It’s not like you haven’t had an idle curiosity or two about your new, eldritch roommate’s... anatomy... before, living in such close proximity to the monster, but it’s always been an idle curiosity. Something you might’ve joked about to your friends, if you had friends you could tell about this whole situation.

You're close to the edge of the stage now, so close- you could reach out and touch the rough boards now if you really wanted to. You drift closer still, drawn to the mewling clown. Without even realizing it, one of your hands has drifted to the front of your jeans and kneads the fabric there, twisting and rubbing, trying to reach the source of the wet heat pooling between your legs, so intense it almost feels like you’re burning.

Your eyes are glued to the throbbing organ in Its hand- a thick tentacle, red and fleshy and writhing, dripping with some strange, sticky clear fluid. The appendage twists and curls, seemingly of its own volition, twining through the cosmic horror’s fingers as Its hips buck in desperation, as Its fingers dig gouges into the damp-warped wood It kneels on.

That tentacle. Oh, dear gods above, that tentacle. Your brain is suddenly full of nothing else but the question of what would that feel like, what would it feel like inside you?

You want it. You want it bad.

A particularly sharp mewl from the not-clown, Its entire body tensing and jerking in a rictus of near-agonized arousal, unable to come, has you sucking in a gasp as the monster bucks and jerks and chokes on sobs, your fingers rubbing circles in the front of your jeans in time with the spider’s thrusting hips.

The tentacle twines around Pennywise's wrist as It ruts against Its hand. Your mouth waters at the sight. Before you can realize what you're doing, you're climbing up onto the stage and reaching for the clown, fingers tangling in the fabric of its silver suit.

The monster jolts under your touch, whipping Its head around to look at you, Its many, many teeth bared in a snarl, a growl dripping from Its maw the same as saliva slides down Its chin and splats onto the floor. You aren’t sure if the eldritch beast even actually sees you, Its eyes are cloudy and unfocused as it snarls at you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pennywise knows you're there, now, and It's going to get you for spying on It.

You take a sharp step back, at once too aware of how incredibly stupid it was of you to come down here looking for your eldritch roommate, and the not-a-clown crawls forward, advancing on you, becoming more monstrous as it gets nearer.

It backs you against the wall of the stagecoach, and you can feel your heart pounding in your ears, even as your eyes are still glued to the tentacle that drips between Its legs, writhing and swollen and neglected.

You can’t stop staring at it. Something about the spider/clown’s wet, squirming cock is hypnotic. The razor edge of fear cuts through some of your arousal, but it’s still there. You still want that delicious, candy-red tentacle cock, still crave it inside you.

Its hands, still sticky with Its own fluids, still dripping with Its own precome, have become long claws. You’re about to make a break for it, try and get away- but before you can run from here the way your instincts are screaming at you to do, It’s grabbing you by the hips and digging in.

The talons protruding from what once were human-shaped fingers don’t pierce your flesh or tear your clothing, but it’s a near thing as the clown pulls Itself towards you, growling.

You expect your life to flash before your eyes the way the movies always say it should when you’re about to die, but nothing appears. Instead, you just squeeze your eyes shut and turn away, bracing against the inevitable shredding of flesh and orgy of feasting on your still-living entrails.

Past the blood rushing in your ears, you hear the spider/clown panting, growling, and you’re sure It’s going to bite you, tear into your flesh and feast on your innards, but the pain never comes.

Instead, the breath is forced from your lungs in shock as It buries Its face between your legs, snuffling and mouthing at the stiff fabric in between It and Its prize, a keening whine growing in the back of Its throat.

The realization that you’re not about to be eviscerated and eaten alive hits you like a freight train, and a hysterical laugh bubbles in your throat. The not-clown mouths more insistently at your groin, talons digging into your flesh harder. It’s got one of your legs between Its own now, and is rutting against your shin like it’s all that’s keeping It alive.

You breathe in heavily, lungs feeling shaky, your body on fire once more, fear shaking and shivering and taking the back burner as you feel your hips buck against Its mouth without your directive.

Your hands shake as much with fear as with excitement and arousal as Its too-many teeth catch on the denim of your jeans. You have two heartbeats now- one pounding in your throat, the other beating in your slit.

With a groan, you reach down and struggle with the button of your jeans, difficult as it is to fumble through the haze of your own arousal and around the not-a-clown pressing Its face into you there, though you manage it and slide down the zipper.

But that’s all you can do before the not-clown surges up, yanking your clothing out of the way as it suckles and laps at your entrance, slurping up your juices and moaning needily into your cunt, still humping your leg, Its sticky fluids staining your jeans.

Your eyes roll back in your head as It rolls your clit between Its teeth, gentle enough that the sharp tines of bone don’t so much as bruise your skin. It takes effort to tear your gaze back down, but you do.

A glorious wave is building inside you, and you want to watch this creature of unimaginable power, made helpless and desperate with lust, as it eats you out with a gusto out of this world. The sight is too wonderful to behold with your unfocused eyes. The spider looks back up at you, meets your hazy gaze with its own burning stare, and it just about sets your insides on fire.

"Not enough,” the spiderclown hisses into your opening, still licking and sucking as if Its life depends on it, but you can see Its tentacle down by your feet twitching and jerking, and oozing. “Not enough,” the spider hisses again, pulling away, eyes glowing gold and unhinged.

You whine at the loss of stimulation, hips bucking, desperate to get the eldritch horror’s glorious mouth back on you. But you don’t have to wait long, before It pulls you down to the stagecoach floor and crawls on top of you, and you can feel Its thick member slithering over your lower lips and then sliding in, and the clown snaps Its hips and buries Itself in you to the hilt in a single motion and you can do nothing except cry out in mingled pain and pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, life stuff happened and then i forgot
> 
> will update when i get around to figuring out what comes next

**Author's Note:**

> honestly sometimes i kind of wonder if stephen king knows people wanna fuck the clown. i mean, he has to, right? he's on the internet, he's probably googled shit before. but like, i also kind of hope no one has ever told him that people wanna fuck his clown because no one deserves to have to know about this


End file.
